Busted
by Obi the Kid
Summary: Pre-TPM time-frame. A battered and busted master struggles to come back to himself.


**TITLE:** Busted

**AUTHOR**: Obi **the Kid**

**RATING:** PG

**CHARACTERS:** Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, Terran Va'lor (healer)

**SUMMARY:** Pre-TPM time-frame. A battered and busted master struggles to come back to himself.

**DISCLAIMER:** The characters and venue of Star Wars are copyrighted to Lucas Films Limited. I make no profit from the writing or distribution of this story.

**This is story is part of a challenge I made to myself. My goal, to take the 12 songs titles from the Matchbox Twenty album "Yourself or Someone Like You" and write a story that goes with each song title (these are NOT song fics). In no particular order, the stories will be called: Real World; Long Day; 3AM; Push; Girl Like That; Back to Good; Damn; Argue; Kody; Busted; Shame and Hang. They will be a mix of Jaythen based stories, Yappy Obi (YO) stories and Qui-Gon & Obi-Wan based stories. I hope you enjoy!**

The flash of remembrance came again. A boy. No, a young man. Short brown hair. A long braid behind the ear. Perhaps all of eighteen years old. He donned a long brown robe and carried a metal cylindrical shaped object on his hip. There was something about him, something so familiar, but so distant.

The man shook the thoughts away and focused on the pain in his head, in his arms and legs. The stinging sensation in his fingers and toes usually got worse when he thought about the young man. Must have something to do with the clamps that were connected to each of the digits. The thoughts brought hurt. He should stop thinking about the one with the braid. It only brought him more suffering both physically and emotionally, because he _**knew**_ there was something there. Some attachment. There had to be or why would he keep having these feelings?

He stopped himself again and the stinging sensation subsided. Next, someone or something came into the room and did things to him. A gummy substance was placed under his tongue. A dark liquid was dripped into his eyes. A blade siphoned blood from his strapped wrists and ankles. The table that was his bed became ice cold under his bare back. He shivered violently for a long time afterwards.

Broken. Busted.

And then he was alone again.

More thoughts – memories? – came to him soon. More detailed. More real.

The brown-haired young man was back and was yelling for someone. Looking for a person that he'd lost. The voice seemed so distant, but there was anxiousness there. A desperate need to find someone.

This person he'd lost was important to him.

Another man, older and gray, flanked the younger one. He too was calling for the lost one.

Again he shook his head clear, or attempted to. No matter the stinging that the visions brought, they were oddly comforting. The big man discovered that he could bear the pain that came with these memories. And more and more, he began to believe that they were actual memories and not just random feelings and thoughts. But what and whose memories were they?

The gummy blob that had been put under his tongue was numbing his mouth as it usually did. So when the door opened and the strange being came forth again, it checked the man's mouth just before forcing a sour liquid into his throat that dripped into his unkempt beard. The man knew that liquid. It always made him feel tired. He would blackout. Then he'd wake and find himself re-tied to the table with fresh straps.

What happened to him during those blackouts, he could not remember.

How long this torture routine went on, the man could not know. He couldn't recall a time being anywhere else. This was his life. Except there was that boy he kept remembering.

Why? Who was he? And why did he feel a connection to him?

Perhaps, he thought, perhaps this busted life wasn't always his life. Maybe this young man was part of his past. Could he and the gray-haired one be searching...for him?

A brief glimmer of hope ran through the bearded man's bones only to be countered by even greater despair.

The pair searching, the young man and the gray-haired man, they hadn't found him yet, though they'd been in his thoughts for as long as he could remember being strapped to this table. They would never find him. And he would remain used and broken as long as he drew breath.

More time passed. How much, he didn't know. It felt like an eternity as he was forced into the same routine of torture and pain, countless hour by countless hour.

Then all at once, it stopped. There was no gummy glob under the tongue. No slicing of his wrists. No fire-burning drops poured into his eyes. There was nothing except his broken body tied to the cold table.

But the memories were still there. Stronger now too. Almost as if those two voices calling out so desperately for their lost friend were in the next room.

He dared to hope. Dared to believe that someone would find him and either fix him, or put him out of his misery.

The boy's voice – the young man. So distinctive. And closer. So very close.

It settled next to his head and quieted to a whisper.

"Master Qui-Gon, I'm here. It's okay now. We'll take care of you."

There was an unnatural feeling of straps being oh so carefully removed from the open wounds on his wrists and ankles, followed by something soft and warm being set on each of those wounds.

The gray-haired man spoke. "Those are just bandages, Qui-Gon. Treated with bacta. Nothing that will hurt you, I promise. Obi-Wan and I are going to take you home now."

Obi-Wan. That was the boy's name. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obi-Wan was…his apprentice. His student.

It all came back now. Jedi. These men were Jedi. He was a Jedi. He was Qui-Gon Jinn. But how had he ended up in this room and on this table? There was a blind attempt to speak, but only a few rumbled sounds came out. Then he felt a hand on his forehead and saw blue-green eyes - comforting eyes - looking into his.

"Quiet now, Master. Let us take care of you."

The voice was trying hard to be strong, but Qui-Gon could feel it breaking under the strain. A solitary tear trailed the boy's face before he refocused on the task at hand. Had he known all along that Obi-Wan would find him? Is that why he kept thinking about him and needing those images of the young man calling for him?

With the effort of an army, Qui-Gon managed to move his forearm just enough to reach up and trail a finger across Obi-Wan's cheek.

Another tear followed. The gray-haired man came near. Terran, Qui-Gon remembered. Terran Va'lor. He was a Jedi healer. He was a good friend. Terran was able to reassure the boy. And the next thing he knew, he was off the cold hard table and into a warm soft bed. Terran was bandaging and treating and cleaning. Obi-Wan was not there.

Qui-Gon grunted at Terran, forming an 'O' with his mouth.

"Obi-Wan is fine, Qui-Gon. He's piloting us home. It was either him or me, and he's the better pilot. Keeps him focused too. Although, I've never seen him so focused on anything as he was on finding you. He followed every clue, used every ally, tracked every lead. Just like you've taught him. He said you always told him to vigilantly use everything in your power before you ever dare to give up on anything. He searched under and beyond every rock, every word, and every person who told him that the continued search was pointless. And damn if he didn't find you. Took some time, but you're safe. You'd have been so proud of how he handled everything."

The big Jedi was glad when the healer ignored his wet eyes. His Jedi past was coming back to him now and Qui-Gon remembered working so hard and tediously with Obi-Wan on so many things. Sometimes the boy was frustrating beyond belief. Sometimes he was a joy to train. That Obi-Wan was able to put everything together by himself and so determinedly continue in the search, well, Qui-Gon was for certain that he'd be damned proud of him.

The flight was short, at least he thought it was. The passing of time was still a bit perplexing to him at the moment. The deep sleep he'd come out of, brought him into a dimly lit, sterile room. Hospital room. Probably a room in the back of the ward to keep distractions to a minimum. Terran was there. Obi-Wan too.

"You slept for a solid two days, Qui-Gon. It's given the worst of your wounds a jump start on healing. You've got a road in front of you, no doubt. Don't pick at your fingers. You lost a layer of skin on the tips of them. I had a hell of a time getting those clamps off your fingers and toes. They're all bandaged, but I know how you enjoy removing things like that when you get antsy about recovery. So don't touch the bandages. Let the medicines work. Whatever you need, Obi-Wan and I will be here." Terran then directed himself towards the apprentice. "Don't tax him, Obi-Wan. The drugs they forced into his mouth made his throat quite raw, so it's painful for him to talk very much. Go easy. It'll be okay, I promise."

Qui-Gon watched his student listening so carefully and then taking over when Terran left the room. The bearded Jedi felt so exhausted, but he wanted – needed – time with his padawan.

His voice was scratchy and agonizing pain filled his throat, but he spoke anyway.

"Proud, Obi-Wan."

The boy smiled without releasing eye contact.

"Stubborn. Didn't let me go."

"You've always told me, Master, that my stubbornness would come in handy at some point in my life." Another smile. This one just happy to see his mentor alive.

Qui-Gon tried to smile back. A slight curve of the lip was the only success.

"Thought about you there. Didn't know who you were, but familiar. I was busted, Obi-Wan. Broken. You were...familiar. Familiar saved me."

"I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner, Master. Maybe things wouldn't have been so bad."

"No blame. Proud."

"I remembered everything you taught me. And I tried to make it all rational in my head, even though I was so worried. I never lost sight of your lessons."

"Sometimes…thought hard head didn't let lessons in." Qui-Gon's eyes began to drift.

Obi-Wan took a hand and set it on a non-bruised part of his master's arm. "No more talking, Master. Sleep now. You need to get well again. I've still got much to learn from you."

"More to teach. Did good, Obi-Wan. Good to…be home."

"I'm glad to have you home, Master. Hush now. Stop talking, okay? I'll say with you while you sleep. And I'll be right here when you wake up. Just rest now."

Qui-Gon fell into another deep sleep. It was troubled. He felt himself back in the dark room, on the cold table, broken and busted. Then a gentle touch to his forehead and a comforting word, and his mind would settle again.

Obi-Wan stayed with him all night, being that constant familiarity that Qui-Gon so desperately needed.

_THE END_


End file.
